


Doppelgänger

by WaywardGraves



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Ambiguous Time, Angst, LAPD AU, Pain, Self-Harm, Supernatural Elements, Torture, doppelganger au, for anyone, it's late and I wanna die, possible tw: suicidal thoughts, so does Percival in this, with no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 14:18:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10336484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaywardGraves/pseuds/WaywardGraves
Summary: Supernatural creatures are real. What happens when the LAPD's Director of Special Tasks is attacked?An inspiration from another fic done when I couldn't sleep. Don't hold it against me.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Recognition](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9196043) by [DraconicSeraphim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DraconicSeraphim/pseuds/DraconicSeraphim). 



> 100% inspired by DaconicSeraphim's Recognition (one of my favorite one shots). I can't sleep and it's 4am so I might as well do this.

Of all the subhuman species in the world, the Doppelgänger is only ranked a two out of five on the danger scale. They do not possess the super strength of creatures like Vampires or Werewolves, nor do they have the hypnotic abilities of Selkies or Faes. The most concerning aspect of a Doppelgänger is the fact that there is no external way to tell the difference between them and those they choose to imitate. A single touch is all it would take

 

Percival has intimate knowledge of every type of subhuman known. He knows the specifics of their powers, their strengths, their weaknesses. Being the Director of Special Tasks for the Los Angeles Police Department it’s crucial to know what you’re dealing with. Twenty years on the force he’s learned how a particular species can be exploited to solve a case or taken down if necessary. However as he sits here, bound to a chair, looking up into his own dark brown eyes he can’t help but think that Doppelgängers warrant a much higher ranking than a two on the danger scale.

 

Percival flinches when he hears the door to his basement close. The creature usually shows up once a day to feed Percival and to replenish his form. Doppelgängers need to touch their living subjects on a regular basis to keep their charade up. In the mornings the man brings him a glass of water and a piece of untoasted bread. With his hands locked together by a set of his own handcuffs and his legs bound to the chair, he has to bear being hand fed by the man like a toddler and he tries to avoid looking into the too-familiar eyes. By the fourth week of his captivity he will find a sneer of derision on the stolen features glaring down on him, so he does his best to avoid eye contact altogether. He doesn’t stop his threats though.

 

“They’re going to find out.” Percival says.

 

“Is that right?” His counterpart responds.

 

“You’re going to slip up. Someone is going to realize something’s wrong. You can’t do this forever.” 

 

“My dear Director, if they haven’t recognized this charade by now they’re not going to. Besides, why on earth would I want to be you forever?” He says. “No, once I find what I’m looking for I’ll be gone. Unfortunately, you won’t be around to see it.”

 

“What is it you’re looking for?” Percival asks. For that he receives a sharp slap that rocks his head to the side. His chair wobbles dangerously, threatening to tip over.

 

“Mr. Graves, look at me.” The imposter says. Percival keeps his eyes averted which earns his a sharp jab to his already broken ribs. He tries to stifle the gasp, not wanting to give his tormentor the satisfaction, but fails. A hand grips his jaw tightly and forces Percival’s head up to meet a stern expression he often gives to the rookies in the department when they’ve made a mistake. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

 

Percival remains quiet. He wants so badly to say,  _ “Of course you’re stupid.” _ He’s desperate to laugh in his face and say,  _ “You’re in the presence of some of the best detectives of the country, how would they not figure it out.” _ But he doesn’t say any of that.

 

Because that’s the catch isn’t it? This man  _ had _ taken over his department. He worked with colleagues of twenty years and  _ nobody _ has noticed. Percival’s not blind. He knows he’s cold; he knows he’s distant. He doesn’t go out for drinks after work, he doesn’t invite people over to his house, he doesn’t attend parties or weddings. The only things he does attend are funerals for fallen brothers and sisters. He doesn’t have friends and he doesn’t have a family. The work he does requires every ounce of his concentration and all relationships are liabilities. He would kill or die for anyone in his department, that’s just who he is. He’s always been terrified that if he ever did get close to someone they could be used against him.

 

But now he has nobody and that means no one is looking for him while he’s being held hostage in his own home. He doesn’t have visitors that stop by for dinner; his neighbors don’t check on him. There’s no one to hear him when he calls out. He’s shaken from his thoughts when his Doppelgänger gives his head, that’s remained in his grasp for an uncomfortable amount of time, a particularly violent shake.

 

“You answer me when I ask you a question. Do you think I’m stupid?”

 

“No.” Percival rasps out.

 

The hand that’s been supporting his head pulls back and he lets it drop onto his chest. Doing his best to play the submissive role his captor has come to expect. Percival feels a hand card through his hair and above him he hears, “Good boy.” In his own condescending tone. Percival bites a quip back and doesn't lift his head until he hears the door slam and he’s alone again.

 

It’s not uncommon for the man to take his anger out on Percival. Overall, he could bear it. It hurt but you didn’t get to his position without learning how to take a beating. Unfortunately, he knew his bones won’t set properly while he’s chained to a chair. The worst day of his captivity came about three months in. When his jailer came stomping into his basement at night he knew something was wrong. He marched towards Percival and stopped right in front him. He didn’t say anything and his demeanor was eerily calm. Percival stares into his eyes and know he couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. An eternity passes between the two of them, neither one moving, but the silence is broken along with Percival’s jaw as he’s hit so hard his chair lurches over and he hits the ground. He’s barely registered what happened when  a kick comes to his face, shattering his nose and he tastes copper. The imposter steps around him and Percival is more anxious now that he can’t see what the other man is doing.

 

“I didn’t know you and Tina Goldstein were close.” The man says and Percival’s blood runs cold.

 

“We’re not.” He says.

 

“Don’t lie to me.” The man says and stops on his ankle, cracking the bone beneath his heel.

 

“She was my protégé. I helped her reach detective. She’s a good cop, that’s all.”

 

“Well, she seems to know you a little too well. I noticed her dogging my steps about a week ago but didn’t think too much of it. She cornered me today after lunch though, demanding to know what was wrong.” He’s pacing now, walking circles around Percival’s feeble form. “Well it’s a good thing you weren’t too close since I had to gut her like a fish. I wasn’t my fault I had to keep her quiet. You understand, of course.” Another kick comes to his sternum but he’s too numb to feel it.

 

“No.” It’s all Percival can say. “No, no, no.” There’s no way Tina’s dead. His copycat has been so careful, he wouldn’t start slipping up now.

 

“Now you see why I’m upset. If you had told me to keep an eye on her I would’ve done a better job. Really, her blood is on your hands.” He says, “I think you need to repent for your mistakes. Don’t worry, now the body is taken care of I can spend the rest of the night down here.” The beating he receives is the worst he’s ever received, yet it doesn’t come close to the pain in Percival’s chest from the loss of the closest thing to a friend he had. He’s not sure how long he lays on the floor but eventually his captor lets up once there’s a sizable pool of blood around him. “If I kill you I’ll have to find a new meatsuit and that would defeat the purpose.” He picks Percival’s chair back up but he’s too close to unconsciousness to care. 

 

“You want to know what it started it?” The man says before he slips into the blackness “I took my coffee with cream and sugar, you take it black. Such a simple detail our dear Tina caught onto. Too bad she couldn’t let it go.” The man gives him a look of disdain. “Look at you. The great Director Percival Graves. I barely recognize you.”

 

The next few weeks pass by in a blur. Percival hopes he will just die so the man would be revealed. The loss of Tina is like a physical weight on his shoulders, yet the expected tears never come. He feel pain and he mourns but more than that he just feels hollow and numb. 

 

Eventually, his Doppelgänger’s caught. Percival’s detectives are the best and they found Tina’s body along with Percival’s fingerprints. After his imposter was detained for twenty-four hours he reverted back into his original self, a man by the name of Gellert Grindelwald. Soon after, a team was sent to search the house. He was barely recognizable when they came upon his bound form in the basement.

 

Percival was found bloody, bruised, broken, but alive. He was in the hospital for another three months and then he was cleared to go home. He had spent six months away from work, but his Chief denied his request to work on anything, even paperwork, from home. 

 

“Take those paid vacation hours. I don’t want to see you here for another month at the least. Rest and recuperate. Then we will talk about reestablishing your post.” Seraphina said kindly over the phone but Percival just hung up. He honestly didn’t really care. He wanted to go back to normal, but that couldn’t happen. At the station he saw the way his subordinates looked at him now. Pity, disgust, shame, guilt, distrust. He was supposed to lead these men and women and now he couldn’t even walk without a cane, the ankle break had been a bit worse than he thought. The weight of Tina’s death hung like a cloud over his department and he couldn’t look them in the eye. He knew they blamed him. He blamed himself too.

 

He locked himself away in his home. Refusing visitors and only taking phone calls from Seraphina. He had let his usually manicured facial hair grow into a complete beard. If anyone asked Percival he’d tell them it’s because he has no reason to shave now he didn’t have to for work. If he’s being honest with himself it’s because a beard is less suspicious than covering up every mirror in his house. With this look he barely recognizes himself.

 

After a month of recovery he gets word of Tina’s memorial. He knows if he wants to get back on his feet he has to show his team he’s still a functioning member of society. He finds his best suit in his closet and the most expensive tie he owns. He still needs the cane but if he can retain the air of superiority he used to have as Director then he can get away with having that particular weakness overlooked. He stands in front of the mirror in his bathroom with his straight-blade in hand. He’s shaking when he brings the razor to his throat and begins trimming away at the comfort the beard has provided him. 

 

He tries not to look at his eyes because he knows he wouldn’t find anything. No cold, perceptive scrutiny. No fear or anger. They’re just as empty as the rest of him by this point, but who would notice anyway? No one notices when a beast slipped into his skin for months. They wouldn’t notice that Percival has changed again. He allows his mind to wander which makes it easier to complete his shaving, his hands working on muscle memory. He’s just about done when he accidentally nicks his jaw. His gaze snaps to the blood trickling down and he’s fascinated as it rolls down his throat. 

 

Experimentally, he brings the blade back up and makes another cut right next to the first. How amazing it is that after all the blood he’s spilt he still has so much. He snickers to himself, though he can’t imagine why, and he takes the blade to the other side of his face, drawing a cut from the far corner of his eye to the edge of his mouth. He’s giggling uncontrollably now and tears have begun to fall, cutting tracks into the blood that’s painting his face. He cuts and he cuts and he cuts. He’s not sure how long he cuts but when he looks back in the mirror there’s not an inch of his face that isn’t stained red. With a cry he slams his hand holding the razor into the mirror; ignoring the shards that fall in the sink, that hit the ground, that embed in his hand. He drops to the floor and weeps. All the tears that never came in his captivity spill out of him until he’s just a gasping mess surrounded by tears and glass and so, so much blood. 

 

After missing the memorial, Seraphina and a few detectives stop by Percival’s house to check up on him.

 

He was barely recognizable when they found him.


End file.
